


12:24

by fightforyourwrite



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Music, Drummer Marlowe, F/M, Jazz - Freeform, Saxophonist Hitch, jazz band
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-11-15 13:21:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11231859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fightforyourwrite/pseuds/fightforyourwrite
Summary: The drummer of Nile Dawk's studio band is a wide-eyed idealist and Hitch Deliss doesn't know what to think of that.





	12:24

**Author's Note:**

> First time writing Hilow. Hope I do good.

For the last few months, they had been in the same room together from 9AM to 12, but it was only now that Hitch truly noticed him.

When Marco Bodt broke his arm in a bike accident, he left Nile Dawk’s studio band without a drummer. On that day, Marlowe Freudenberg had officially graduated from alternate to core.

Instead of sitting to the side to turn Marco’s pages, Marlowe sat in the drummer’s chair. He would grasp the sticks like his hands were born to hold them. Nile did have to bother a friend of his so that someone could turn Marlowe’s pages.

Hitch was placed across the room, sitting with her saxophone hung from her neck. She hadn’t noticed Marlowe until now because she had her own business to focus on.

Nile Dawk could be a ruthless director, and he made Hitch realize that a spot in his studio band was not what she expected it to be. She thought the assurance of knowing she had a part in such an ensemble would ease her worries as she practiced, but she was unbelievably wrong.

Getting in was the easy part, staying was the hard part.

Practicing became harder. Hitch started going over her pieces at home, much to the chagrin of her mother. The stress of knowing that a competition was coming up motivated her to work even more.

There were nights where she focused on the same few bars for hours on end, practicing until her lungs felt like they were going to give out. She ended up falling asleep in the clothes she wore that day with her saxophone strap still around her neck.

The next morning, when Hitch finally exited her room, she found a cold cup of tea waiting outside for her. It had been sitting there all night.

Presumably, her mother had noticed her daughter’s refusal to leave her room in the last fourteen hours. Perhaps Hitch had made her worry.

After Marlowe’s first rehearsal as the core drummer, Hitch found herself stretching her aching hands.

He had actually done quite well that day and seemed happy to finally play. Drumming came easy to him. He moved the sticks with a kind of fluidity that Hitch had only seen in a select few players.

However, his tempo had fumbled a few times. Nile definitely noticed, because if the drummer was off tempo, then so was the rest of the band. The two had a talk once class ended, speaking from teacher to student.

Some of Hitch’s bandmates were planning to get drinks after rehearsal, either because drinking was a part of the young adult experience, or because Nile was so particularly nasty that alcohol was the only way to cope.

Hitch stayed behind for a few minutes to answer some texts from her mother. She also messaged her bandmates that she would be a few minutes late.

After putting her saxophone back in its case, Hitch overheard a conversation by the few people left in the rehearsal space.

_“I know what you’re capable of, Freudenberg, but don’t think you’re special. If you wanna get better, go and practice. Get into a rehearsal room and don’t come out unless your fingers fall off. I don’t need you wasting everyone’s time just because can’t keep a consistent tempo. Is that clear?”_

Hitch glanced across the room to see Nile giving Marlowe a death glare.

Marlowe looked frightened, vulnerable. Nile’s words had truly shaken him.

Criticism was a part of an artist’s life, whether it came from teachers or admirers.

A lot of things that came out of Nile’s mouth felt sharper than broken glass. It hurt most of the time. Nile never took back any of the words he had.

Despite his disoriented state, Marlowe found it in himself to nod. “Yes, Sir. I promise I will.”

Nile groaned rather loudly, “And don’t call me ‘sir.’ This is studio band, not the marine fuckin’ corps.”

Promptly, the band conductor turned on his heel and headed to the open door. He grabbed his jacket off a stool and let one more phrase leave his mouth.

“Clear the room, you two. String ensemble needs this space by 1.”

Hitch understood right away. She closed her case and slung it on her back. The clock on the wall read 12:24.

Marlowe seemed frozen in his position, looking down and staring off into an unseeable void.

Perhaps Hitch shared more in common with him than she originally thought. There was a chance that a position in the conservatory’s jazz ensemble had subverted Marlowe’s expectations as well.

It was one thing to turn pages all day and sit to the side while Nile instructed, usually having no regards to using an inside voice. It was a whole other to actually sit there and have him yell at such a close proximity.

Hitch walked up to Marlowe and broke him out of his trance by tapping him on the shoulder.

“Don’t let Dawk get to you. He’s all bark but no bite,” she started, keeping her hand on him for a few seconds. “He’s no Shadis, I’ll tell you that.”

“Shadis?” Marlowe asked, confused.

“String conductor,” Hitch explained. It was hard to study at that particular conservatory without knowing who Keith Shadis was. Hitch had never met him, but she had heard rumours.

“I heard he once punched a violist in the gut for playing off key.”

“Is that really worse than Dawk?” Marlowe wondered, placing his hands into his jean pockets. “Because that’s exactly what he just did to me.”

Hitch raised an eyebrow, “He tells you that you need to practice more and you equate that to being punched in the gut?”

Marlowe nodded, proving Hitch’s guess to be spot on.

She rolled her eyes, unsure whether to laugh or sigh.

“You’re either a perfectionist or idealist and I’m not sure which one’s more fitting.”

Hitch didn’t know what to think of him. The arts were a hard place for idealism and perfectionism to thrive. Idealist beliefs could be smashed by the harshness of reality, and perfectionism could very well become someone’s downfall.

Hitch walked past Marlowe and headed to the door, “All I know is that Dawk’s ensemble is no place for a wide-eyed idealist.”

When she didn’t hear footsteps following, she turned her head to see Marlowe still standing in his spot.

“I’m not sorry, by the way,” she cleared up, regarding her last statement. “I’m just being honest.”

“Are you telling me I should quit?” Marlowe questioned. He placed his stick carrying case into his shoulder bag and slung it around his torso.

Hitch raised an eyebrow, “Quit? Fuck no. Stay and see how far you’ll make it? Fuck yes.”

At the very worst, Nile would have to spend an afternoon auditioning other drummers in the school to find a replacement. Still, a part of Hitch didn’t want Marlowe to leave. He had just got what he wanted, why not stick around for a while?

She could see the defeated look in his eyes. “You look like you could use a drink. Me and the other saxes are going to a brewery. That interest you?”

“It’s not even 12:30 and you’re going out to drink?” Marlowe asked, now starting to walk in her direction.

“Don’t tell me how to live my life, Bowl-Cut,” Hitch explained, sharply. She couldn’t believe she had made it in a conversation with him for this long without commenting on his hair. “Besides, they got food there too.”

Hitch walked through the door, “Are you coming or not? Cause if you are, I gotta text ahead to save an extra seat.”

Marlowe was following her, “Might as well. I can’t reserve a rehearsal room until 3 anyway…”

**Author's Note:**

> I high apologize for getting any musician terminology long. I actually have quite a bit of musical training myself, but I was a choir kid in high school, not a band kid. I'm not too familiar with different positions for instruments. 
> 
> I might have gotten a few things wrong.


End file.
